BORN FREE

Your NAME is just a noun till the time you are working over the draft of your life to accomplish the listed objectives. Once you are done with accomplishing your objectives, your name won’t just be a noun. It will then be the definition of Success.

And what if you don’t succeed in achieving your objectives?? It won’t be a definition to Failure, it will be declared as an Attempt to achieve something that was not meant for you.

Having legs is one thing, WALKING is another.
Having eyes is one thing, VISION is another.
Having life is one thing and LIVING yet another.

Everyone has got their own fate map with innumerable other routes crossing their paths. All you need to do is to locate the right path that connects your today with your destiny. Very often people with their vision misled by the dazzle of the other paths, tend to drown in the infiniteness lingering between you and your destiny. Learn to WALK the right path irrespective of how much alluring the wrong one is.
If the tidiness of water would have held the potter’s vision, then this world would have never seen a neat clay pot been built from the loose untidy clay.

In this journey of life, the vehicle of present takes you to that cross road of life where you halt for some time and look back the at the road travelled, only to question yourself the reason of your travel. There are times when life seems meaningless to you and you haplessly look for the reason that like the firefly once caught your attention in the darkness around you and suddenly disappeared into the darker sections of life. You plan to chase that shaft of light but the uncertainty in that darkness prevents you from chasing. Remember, speed breakers in this tiresome journey to destiny are only meant to delay your arrival not to culminate it. Enlighten your VISION, such that even the darkness of hell can’t make your goal go out of your sight.
If striking stones, just for once, would have created a spark then probably there wouldn't have been any match box in this world.

The opposite of Success is Attempt, not FAILURE. Even those people who walk the paths not meant for them, just to explore life, ultimately get drowned in an unfathomable ocean of quest are not failures. They are the ones whose lost tale stand to guide people to follow the path meant particularly for him/her. You came into this world crying. You will leave with people crying. But just like your birth, when people around you were holding a smiling face, your death must leave with them with a million such reasons to smile in your absence as well.

Live in such a way that every single tear rolling down the cheeks of your own people at the time of your death, must have the potential to dry with the heat of determination in them and not with the wipes of sympathy from someone. And then your life will be called as a LIVING.

Yes, you are born free till the time you are successful in -- locating the right path to walk -- develop the right vision to focus on your goals – living the life gifted to you.

With the armor of right path, right vision and a life worth living casing you, the venomous fangs of failure, defeat and regret won’t ever succeed in etching a dent on you.

The Over-baked Toast

Sunday means I was supposed to take her out. Sunday means I wouldn’t take any calls from my office mates. Sunday means she would sit unmoved with a stupid face pack for an hour or so, which means in that one hour I need to do everything that comes up. From giving away the clothes to the laundry guy to attending calls from my in-laws. Once I was peeing and half way I had to rush out of the toilet to take the call of my mother in law. Ah!! That pain was indescribable, all thanks to my bladder muscles for successfully holding back my ammoniated water.

How pathetic it was to answer to her- “How are you doing beta??”
I replied- “Doing great”. Can you please hang up, my bladder is bursting.

Just imagine all this use to happen in that span of one hour. Where I went crazy fixing those little things, she sat unmoved and unaware with a deep belief that in the next hour she would look ravishing. Girls, I tell you, just tell them to hold their breath for twenty minutes that they will be the sexiest creature on earth after that. I bet they will attempt to do that.

It was a goddamn Sunday again and my one hour was about to start. She was stirring the paste in a bowl and with that sight all I remembered was to unload myself with all sorts of biological pressures. Because the last thing I wanted was to rush out of the toilet once again, half way into peeing. Unlike every weekend I was in no mood to go out in this suffocating weather. With humidity scaling well above the ninety mark, I couldn’t help being a lazy ass.

And my extremely busy one hour went like this- I gave way the washings to the laundry guy. Took the trash out. Shaved. Flipped a few pages of the sports section from the newspaper. Read about my horoscope. Gave a ‘Have a good day’ smile to my sexy neighbour, dreamt a date with her on the desolate stair case to terrace on a rainy afternoon. Prepared myself for at least fifty push up, gave up at ten. Went to the kitchen, prepared two cup of tea. Placed the bread in the toaster and came back to the living.

Her one hour went like this- Sitting…Breathing…Wondering. I will look sexier.

“Your chaai” I said placing her cup down on the side table as she finally dissolved her frozen state.

“Huh. How can I drink with this face pack?” she replied, slowly opening her eyes.

“Don’t drink…” I exclaimed holding back my smile while looking at her face. It resembled a thin crust pizza without toppings, except the fact that her pack smeared face appeared a tad whiter than the pre baked pizza base.

She left with an icy look. I concentrated on my tea. I desperately waited for her return; I really wanted to see the effects of that close to mayonnaise kind of thing on her face.

Ten minutes post she returned after having washed her face, I raised my chin in the hope of seeing something more glowing than the heavenly bodies, only to hang it back with a murmur – Kya time pass hai yaar. There was no change…!!

She sat beside me with the cup of tea in her hand I made for her. She placed back a streak of hair behind her ears that was falling across her cheek in a way not to touch her face.

Oh my god! She was so conscious about it. I hardly noticed a change.  

“Chai thandi ho gayi hai…” She spoke looking at me. The look wasn’t just a look, it was a ‘go and make it once again’ order. And for the first time ever in all my life I was developing a feeling of hatred for Sundays.

I was mentally preparing myself to make a fresh cup of tea once again. And on a weekend it really needs a lot on motivation to make me move my ass for something so called productive things, like “REMAKING” a cup of tea. Fuck!

‘Cheers’ I said holding my empty cup before her face.
“Hey…move….” She shrieked and jumped a feet back on the bed in sheer horror as if the cup carried a living cockroach winking to her from one of its corners. Her horrifying jump made the clammy tea pour out of the cup and stain her dress. My heart sank to see the silk bed sheet getting spoiled. Frankly I don’t care about her dress. I loved the bed sheet more. I got it from Lucknow when I went there on a business meet.

“You nuts…” she shouted.
“What happened? Just an empty cup…”

“Whatever. But what was the point of bringing it near my face??” She spoke in anger slightly shifting on the bed to see her in the mirror, just to be sure that the post mayonnaise effect on her face wasn’t disturbed.

Freak she is. I wondered. I got up and started to walk towards the kitchen.

“Now kindly make efforts to wash the bed sheet with your mayonnaise. Oh! Sorry, face pack.” I said smiling to myself. I turned to look at her expressions.

“Go to hell”. Yes, that’s what she said. I ignored and went to the kitchen, only to encounter yet another shit.

My utter inexperience of making a toast welcomed me to the kitchen with a cloud of fumes and a burning smell. Yes, the toast got brutally raped by the toaster, I mean burnt. And my inexperience lies in the fact of leaving the bread into the toaster with a timer of three minutes. With the fumes of a charred toast making way into my lungs I came to know that, three minutes can prepare you at least fifty toasts and I applied that time span to two. The outcome was justified….no regrets whatsoever.

This is what you call a super Sunday. Isn’t it?? Spilled tea followed up with charred toast. Not to forget the spoiled bed sheet. It had loads of painful yet pleasurable moments associated with it….the silky feel contributed to the “moment” as well. J

I did prepare the tea somehow but failed to prepare the toast once again as it suffered a short circuit due to overheating leaving me with no choice than to stuff an over baked toast or making something else. I was hell tired for the latter and she won’t accept the former. I was clueless.

I left kitchen with a plan B in my mind. As soon as I reappeared in the living, her expecting eyes seem to scan me to locate her cup of tea and the breakfast. It turned a tad sad tracing the absence of breakfast.

“Hey…you are looking awesome…I mean really hot…” I tried to make some efforts to suppress the topic of breakfast. But then cheesy lines can’t suppress hunger. My words ultimately can’t calm her hypothalamus. Simple as that!

“When did awesome turn out to be the synonym of hot??” She queried with a pissed of look taking her cup of tea from my hands.

“No. I mean you are looking fab. The pack really works.” My lazy mind was quick to substitute ‘mayonnaise’ with ‘face pack’. I sat close to her playing with her hair and doing everything that could save me from my breakfast making task.

“Oh! Really??” she faked a smile, her voice was tracing that she was convinced.

“Yes. No doubt about it. You know sweetheart, if you would have taken the screen test for Murder 3, Jacqueline would have been rendered jobless. You are looking ravishing babe.” I ended as my fingers were still gently caressing her creamy thighs resting behind her sexy night gown. I leaned against her as her throat gulped down the last sip of tea from the cup.

“Accha…yeh toh mujhe bilkul v nahi pata tha…” she murmured.
 I avoided eye contact as my lips met her neck and was about to remove the ends of her night gown from her left shoulder when all my efforts went down the drain.
“Hang on…hang on…nothing doing right in the morning…” she smiled naughtily. “Where is the breakfast??” And her naughty smiles now appeals to me as an evil laugh.

“Babe…forget breakfast nah…we do that regularly. But aisa romantic morning har din thodi hota hai…” I replied; still not ready to accept the fault of spoiling the breads and also the toaster that came to my house in the form of ‘her-dad’s-love-towards-her’. Well, Dahej sounds too rude, its father-daughter love actually.

“Yaa…right…” Her convinced voice was back and with it I once again hugged her.

“Darling can you please make the breakfast for today. Maggi will do. I am too tired…and the toaster also passed away today.” I extended my sincere condolence.

“And the grief made you so romantic, right??” she mocked.

“Yeah, kind off” I mentally saluted my efforts and got back to romancing her.

“Leave. Maggi v banani hai….” She said pushing me and got down from the bed.

“Thank you. Love you...” I imitated a kiss. She smiled.
“…and yes…your mayonnaise works wonder….”

“Call it mayonnaise once again and I am not making Maggi” she replied sternly.

“Ok…Ok…Sorry…You are born beautiful…and grew up to become sexy…” I chuckled.

She bent down to plant a peck on my cheeks and left to serve our screaming tummies.

Darkness is not the absence of light…It’s the absence of right sense.

Insomnia was steering my life those days. A good sleep sounded like a boon for me. Some bewildered thoughts, few unsaid words, unending wait and an acute pain were my only companion of my sleepless nights and hopeless days.

It is 8^th of June, says the digital table clock. And with it the clock of my mind reminds me that it’s been two months I have been robbed off all my happiness. And most importantly I have spent this gruesome period of two months without a person whom I thought I can’t spend a day without. Time teaches you a million lessons, resurrects many a disbelief of yours. But I am yet to believe the fact, that believing in loving her was my disbelief.

I am reclined onto my couch staring helplessly at the starless night sky through the partially open window with a can of beer in one hand and lit up joint on the other. It was just another beginning of a sleepless, sadist, drug laden night. A part of me was dying to see a glimmer of hope on the endless canvas of darkness above me. But then it was just a wish…or yet another disbelief. There was an erotic pause in the stratosphere, the trees stood erect at their positions without creating a charm of rejuvenating breeze. Just the way my heart was following an ill-mannered rhythm after been succumbed to an irreplaceable loss. I walked up to the window stealthily and stretched my hand to further open it. I took a long drag and allowed the smoke disperse into the darkness of the night through my slightly parted lips. With every single drag I tried to find my mistake that led me to this.

I took a sip from my can as the nuttiness gave my head a spin. I controlled myself by holding the window grill and stood there unmoved. I took out my cell phone to read the last few verbally emotional encounters of ours. And I did feel that for an aching heart, it’s neither beer nor a hard rolled joint, but the reason of ache itself that can gift you the ultimate soothe. With the messages of her wishing good night caressing my forehead and kissing my eyes, came flashing all the moments of love we shared and also the moment that separated us. The sky was far away from changing its colour, the real night had just set in but the 3 by 2 inch cell phone screen flashing its neon light did illuminate my heart to a certain extent. I dropped the lighted joint’s bud in the astray and turned to read the messages, once again.
The messages did bring back the moments but this time the moments were accompanied by wet eyes and not grinning lips. The beer slipping down my throat did make me feel guilty somewhere. Deep down I felt I was a dolt to have treated her badly. Had I not been that rude to hurt her innocence that arose out of her love for me, I wouldn’t have been trading with insomnia now.

I kept my phone back; the messages had enough warmth to set my eyes watering and soul jittering with guilt. I turned towards the window looking at the darkness and lighted yet another joint. I closed my eyes with the first drag and tried to recollect something…

“Baby, you are overreacting…” She said with an airy gesture.
“Are you nuts?? I am absolutely not overreacting. It’s you who had pulled up this drama.” I spoke as my hoarse voice seemed to choke with the last word due to extensive shouting.
“All I want is your sweet little time….”
“If I devote my entire time to you, will that pay for my bread? Can you please grow up?”
She was already in tears. All these years I had lived seeing the kohl in her eyes sparkle with joy and now I am seeing it smudged with tears of grief and shattered expectations, never did I thought that I would be the reason for her tears.

“Baby…you may not earn bread by devoting time to me, but no nutrition is as nutritive as the nutrition of love and care…” she replied like a child with her left hand wiping her moist cheeks.

“You and your Cindrella dreams...Just enough. Look I think, I devote you enough time that can keep a relationship alive.” I said to her. She sat on the bed hanging her face with a pillow tugged in her arms.

“No dear…you don’t devote enough time. All you do is to get back from office…freshen up…finish your dinner…get drunk and sleep with me. Do you even know how you treat me??”

“What else can I do?? I need to work as well….” I was still not at the verge of accepting my guilt.

“I thought you loved me. I was wrong. This kind of love can be achieved with money. For your kind information I am your wife…not a prostitute…” She said with a trailing voice and left the room immediately. I stood there clueless and like every other arrogant Indian male I didn’t make any effort to stop her, instead I was confident that she will be back. Unfortunately the confidence brought to me two months of insomnia and drugs.

The conversation resounded in my mind as my blurred vision from behind the rising smokes of the lit up joint could see the flaws on my end. Just an apology wasn’t enough. I was ready to be on knees begging for another chance. And this was the first time in all these two months I felt I was wrong. My train of thoughts was interrupted by an irregular chirping of birds that neatly floated across the night shedding sky. I looked at the western sky that was gradually dissolving into faintest shades of red. The night was about to be drained. The morning was about to begin. And the darkness of my life guarded by ego and arrogance just got wet in the rain of love and care.

The endless cans of beer and unlimited joints that had been intoxicating my entrails all this while were showing effects. I was finding it tough to keep myself standing. My head was hurting badly but amazingly the ache in the heart was comparatively less. The window grill slipped off my palm as I fell flat on the ground on my back. All that my shutting eyes could manage to see was a rising sun…and the very sight made the heart promise to itself an apology to her the following day. I dozed off on the lap of many realizations.
               

The curtains of darkness were getting pulled over from my life…with the right sense sipping into the soul.